


we shalt begin (again)

by aecusfalcon



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ignis has wings, M/M, Mild Gore, Mutual Pining, Romantic Tension, Slow Burn, it'll all be revealed when u read it i dont wanna spoil it, well as slow burn as loving each other for as long as they can remember is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-18 12:17:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18699451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aecusfalcon/pseuds/aecusfalcon
Summary: “There anything I can do for you?”Hold me, he wants to beg, he doesn’t feel himself in his skin. As if it’s not right, as if it’s not his, as if he’s crawling in someone else’s body. Instead, he just gives Noctis a look and hopes he can understand it. (They both know it would be asking too much of Ignis to say it out right.)Noct picks up on it and shuffles closer, hands wrapping around Ignis to the best of his ability, runs his hands soothingly through his feathers from where his wings jut out.





	we shalt begin (again)

###  _I._

* * *

 

Ignis prides himself on his ability to keep a level head in the toughest of situations. He’s always been able to keep a tight rein on his emotions unlike others in their group. If they can’t then _someone_ has to was always his reasoning. Now, however, was not one of those moments. Somehow Gladio, of all people, found chinks in his armor and stabbed into them at all the worst possible moments. He knows how to get a rise out of him and it’s _annoying_.

They’ve been out in the wild for _days_ finishing all their hunts and Ignis is _exhausted_ , doubled by the fact he’s all gross and sticky doesn’t help. The breaking point, however, was a comment made by Gladio in the heat of battle.

“You can’t fall here, you have a king to protect.” He said as he pushed a curative into the shield’s hand.

“There’s no king worthy of my protection.”

Ignis seethed.

“Ignis! Instructions!”

He bit back his response in favor of finishing the battle at hand, “Roger.”

 

When they finish the hunt Ignis does nothing but glare daggers into the back of Gladio’s head. It isn’t until he finally glances away, looking to Noct that he sees Noct’s expression. Eyes wide and eyebrows raised. When Noct notices _he’s_ noticed he mouths, “wings.”

That’s all it takes for him to glance back, the wings on his back glowing with heat and radiating off of him.

Ignis prides himself on keeping his face trained, however there is one small problem. The wings upon his back give away his true feelings. Damn those things for being so expressive.

It doesn’t help that he can’t tell when there’s heat rolling off of them, similar to the anger that is boiling under his skin. He can’t take this anymore.

“Gladio, we need to talk.” He practically spits.

He pays no mind to the wince from Noctis or the “what’s going on?” from Prompto. Gladio stops in his tracks and turns to face him.

“What about?” The words roll off his tongue easily and Ignis is _certain_ that he _knows_.

“You know exactly what about.”

“Remind me.”

He narrows his eyes, what’s he playing at? What’s his game? He doesn’t want to say it in front of Noctis, doesn’t deserve to hear that such a petty comment came from Gladio.

Gladio keeps looking at him.

So it’s going to be like this, is it? Very well…

“Prompto, Noct, go ahead, we’ll meet you at camp. We need to have a private _chat_.”

“See you there,” Noct confirms, dragging a hesitant Prompto away.

Ignis waits until they’re gone before he starts on Gladio. “Noctis is you _king_ and it is _your_ duty to be his Shield. I know the situation we’re all in is tense but you’ve no right to take it out on him. You need to start taking this _seriously_.”

“Oh, _I_ need to take this seriously? What about you, huh? You still let your feelings for him get the best of you.”

“This isn’t about that—”

“Don’t give me shit about taking this seriously when _you’re_ the one who doesn’t give it his all. I’m out there putting my damn life on the line just so you don’t have to use your _gifts_.”

“I told you why I don’t-”

“Stop bullshitting and put your insecurities aside. We’re in a _war_.”

Ignis narrows his eyes, brows furrowing and he scowls,  “I _know_ we’re in a war! I’ve known we’ve been at war for _years_ . Who do you think was the first to know of us all about the skirmishes outside the wall. Of the thousands of deaths. Of the losing hand we were dealt with the death of each Glaive. Of the resentment people felt towards the farce of a treaty. We’ve all lost someone. You and Noct are _not_ the only ones.”

“I’m done here.”

“You can’t just run off!”

“I can and I am.” Gladio moves past him, brushing against Ignis roughly as he does so and Ignis is left to continue to seeth.

He needs to calm down.

He lets out a deep breath and looks up at the sky.

###  _II._

* * *

 

“Igis… Ign…” Noct huffs in frustration at the way he stumbles on saying Ignis’s name.

“Ignis,” he corrects (again.)

“Iggy,” he’ll let that be, “how come you have feathers and I don’t?”

“I don’t know.” He’s been told by his parents he’s different, told by his uncles that it’s everyone _else_ who’s different, and told by the King that he’s special. (He doesn’t know which one to believe, maybe all of them are right. Or all of them are wrong.)

“That’s not an answer!”

“Yes it is.”

“My teachers say it’s not.”

“That’s not the same.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“You know everything though.”

“Not everything.”

“Like why you have feathers?”

“Yes.”

It’s left at that and the Prince goes back to whatever he was doing. Ignis’s attention wanders from him back to the book he was intently studying before being interrupted. He’s only able to get a few more pages read before he can feel something pushing against his wings and he turns his head to look. He see Noctis curling up against his back with hardly a care.

“Prince Noctis?”

“You’re warm. Can I stay here? I promise I won’t int… intr… intrept...”

“Interrupt?”

“Yeah.”

He’s hesitant for a moment before he concedes, nodding his head. “Okay… you don’t have to lean against my back though. Come here.”  He spreads one of his wings out slightly and Noctis takes the invitation with a grin. He settles then, and Ignis folds his wing around him securely.

Clarus finds them asleep later, Ignis’ book forgotten and Noct’s crayons scattered.

###  _III._

* * *

 

Ignis doesn’t get much sleep that night despite how exhausted he feels. No matter how he shifts he can’t seem to get comfortable… he’s getting tired of camping so much, even if it saves money. He shuffles quietly, careful not to wake anyone, and gets out of the tent. He slowly zips it back up then turns his attention to the smothered campfire.

He sighs to himself as he extends his arm out. Sparks crackle in the palm of his hand then lights up into a small fire. He gently guides it into the embers of the campfire and watches as it ignites.

He shifts from crouching to sitting and stretches out his wings as he does so. It’s not often he gets to really stretch them out, always stuffed up against the seat of the car or tucked closer to him through his magic.

The fire dances brightly and he smiles to himself. “You’re quite expressive. Happy to be burning bright again?”

He doesn’t get a verbal response, of course, because he never does, but he _feels_ it. The way the flames flicker up higher tell him a story and its gratitude.

“No need to thank me, I’m sorry we only use you for our convenience. Us humans can be so inconsiderate of the things we’ve been gifted. Well… Human probably isn’t the proper description for me…”

The truth is, he’s not quite sure _what_ he is. He was never able to find anything when he was a child and questioning just who he was. He gave up that search some time ago. And yet the question always finds its way to him when he does things like this. When he stretches his wings, when he warms the air around him just with his presence, when he speaks to fire.

 

He hears movement from the tent and casts his gaze from the fire and to the tent warily. The zipper gets unzipped and he’s greeted by the sight of Prompto, hair mussed and eyes bleary.

Ignis raises a brow. “What are you doing up?”

“Our heater got legs and walked out.”

“Ah…” He hadn’t been sure if Prompto knew, but he was bound to notice something’s up, even if he doesn’t have the full story.

“Hey can I ask questions about your wings?”

“Oh…” Well, Prompto is definitely full of surprises, “I didn’t know you could see them. Usually I have them put away with magic. How long did it take to notice them?”

Prompto thins his lips for a moment, cheeks flushing out of embarrassment. “I mean… Since forever? Just… No one ever said anything about them so I thought maybe they weren’t real for a little?” He laughs nervously, rubbing the top of his wrist.

“And then I thought it was some unspoken rule to never talk about them?”

“I see… hm… perhaps it’s because you’ve spent so much time with Noct.”

“Uh…”

“When I have them hidden no one can see them unless they have a strong affinity of magic. And we’re connected to Noct’s armiger so I shouldn’t be so surprised.

“Ohhh. I see. So _can_ I ask questions?”

“Of course.”

Prompto looks especially giddy to start firing away questions. “Okay. First question: are they where the heat comes from?”

“Mostly, yes. I’m not quite sure the exact logic behind it all but I can use fire magic without a proxy via Noct. I do believe there is a connection with that and my wings, though.”

“Second question: can you like… make them all flamey or would that burn you?”

“I am immune to my own fire, and I find if my… temper is high the tips of my feathers ignite. Or if I so choose to.”

Prompto snorts, “So you’ve got hot wings.”

Ignis can’t help the light chuckle that comes from him. “Indeed.”

“Third: _why_ do you have wings?”

Ignis frowns at this and doesn’t give an immediate answer, now moving his attention from Prompto and to the fire.

“Oh— uh… sorry. You don’t have to answer that one.”

“It’s fine… It’s a question I ask myself often. As far as I know I was born with them, and I’ve never gotten a straight answer from anyone as to why. I suspect the King knew, but… he’s dead so the answers I seek died with him. If he had them, that is.”

Prompto doesn’t say anything to that, just gives him a look of sympathy as if he _knows_ what that’s like. Not having answers to one’s own origin is… terrifying, really.

“Okay uh… can I ask one more question?”

“You just did,” there’s a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he tries not to smile.

“That doesn’t count!”

“Proceed.”

“You’re awful… anyways um… Can I… touch them?”

Ignis thinks on it for a moment, reminding himself Prompto won’t harm him, not on purpose, and he nods.

Prompto reaches out slowly, and then strokes his hand over the top of the feathers, a grin soon finding its way to his face. “ _Dude_ , they’re so soft and _warm_.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“You can’t tell?”

“As I said, I’m immune to my own fire, that includes the heat that comes from it.”

“So do you get cold?”

“Not much, I’m sure once we reach a colder climate I’ll be able to feel the difference.”

“Man, living your whole life in perfect temperatures must be nice.”

“On the contrary, I can still feel heat from outside sources. I’m not a god, Prompto.”

Prompto snorts and — Ignis is sure he’s not entirely thinking — leans up against him. “Yeah, sure. Your… uh… man how would you even address a god? Are there special formal names kinda like “highness” or “majesty”?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Your Divinity?”

“Hm… perhaps you’re on to something.”

“I know, I’m a genius aren’t I?”

“Whatever may stroke your ego.”

Prompto yawns, then, and starts to close his eyes, “Have I mentioned how warm you are?”

“Yes.”

“I’m gonna say it again. You’re super warm and cozy and I could probably fall asleep right here.”

“You’ll be sore in the morning if you do. Go back to the tent.”

“Heater.”

Ignis sighs softly and shakes his head feigning annoyance as he gets up and guides Prompto back to the tent. He supposes he can try sleeping again. He’ll miss being able to stretch his wings out but at least he was given some reprieve.

He’s not able to get back to sleep, so he makes use of his time shifting through the armiger and marking what should be sold and what they need more of. Seems they’re running low on curatives… He’ll have to tell Noct in the morning…

 

He’s up again just before sunrise, his attention solely on cooking their breakfast. He stifles a yawn, still feeling exhausted from the previous day. He doesn’t even hear the shuffling from the tent or the zipper opening. And by the time he feels a pressure against his back he flinches violently, wings snapping out and he drops the knife he’d been using. He hisses in pain when it tumbles and knicks his finger.

“Shit, sorry Specs.”

He squeezes his finger turns to see that it’s Noct. “Please warn me before you do that.”

“I thought…” whatever he was saying dies in his throat when he sees the golden ichor drip from Ignis’ finger. He reaches into the armiger and pulls out the first aid kit.

He grabs his finger and gently wraps a bandage around it. (If Noct’s fingers linger longer than necessary, neither acknowledge it.)

“Thank you, Noct.” He looks over the work and carefully flexes his finger.

“Yeah of course. Here, let me chop the rest for you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I wanna make it up to you. ‘Sides, you’ll only make the cut worse.”

Ignis thins his lips but nods, paying close attention as Noctis chops away. He turns his gaze back to the food already on the stove.

“It’s rather out of character for you to be up so early. _And_ helping me cook, nonetheless.”

“Kinda hard not to when you were rummaging around in the armiger all night.”

He winces at this, how could he be so thoughtless? Gladio and Prompto can reach in without so much as alerting Noct, but he doesn’t have that luxury. Their magic grinds against each other which makes it difficult for Ignis to reach through without it alerting Noctis in some way. “I kept you up.”

“I was mostly able to sleep through it… We’ve talked about this, if you have trouble sleeping, come to me.”

“I didn’t wish to disturb your sleep.”

“I told you it won’t bother me… I mean… I’ll probably be grumpy about it at first…”

Ignis stifles a laugh. “You don’t have to tell _me_ that.”

“I’m being serious, Ignis. What was it tonight? Was it… the dreams? You’ve had them since we were kids.”

“No. I…” He sighs, slightly embarrassed, “I couldn’t get comfortable in the tent.”

“Oh… too cramped?”

“Yes.”

“Once we turn in this bounty we can stay at the hotel.”

“Normally, I would advise against that since we don’t have the funds we should have to stay for long. But I am exhausted and dirty and I would very much like that.”

“Then it’s decided. Gladio will just have to suck it up if he wants to argue.”

Noctis finishes cutting up the potatoes and slides them off the cutting board and in with the rest of their breakfast mix.

“Very good. You’ve gotten better since the last couple of times you’ve joined me.”

“Cutting things are easy compared to trying to keep a consistent stir going. It’s like… using swords and shit.”

“I assure you, dicing food is different than _swords and shit_.”

They fall into a lull as Ignis watches the food sizzle, stirring it around. He looks up, eyes locking with Noct’s and he can see his thoughts turning in his head.

“Hey, you remember the first time you took me flying?”

Ignis smiles to himself and nods as he looks back down at the food. “Of course, how could I ever forget? Your father was rather upset by such recklessness.”

“And of course you took the fall for me,” Noct says with a smile on his face.

“And then I was grounded for a week.”

“I think dad knew it was really my idea because it was punishment enough for me to not be able to see you during that time.”

“Yes well, you didn’t ever _learn_ from that lesson did you?”

“I refuse to ever learn any lessons about making my royal advisor take me flying other than the fact it’s a lot of fun and also terrifying.”

“Don’t expect me to do it often. It’s very dangerous and I’m not confident in my ability to keep you in my arms quite yet.”

“Sounds kinda gay.”

Ignis doesn’t respond to that, instead he looks away, clears his throat, and gestures to the food sizzling in the skillet. “Food’s ready. We should let it cool. Would you mind waking up Prompto and Gladio before it gets _too_ cold?”

“Don’t mind at all — hah, can’t wait to see the look on their faces when _I’m_ the one that wakes them up.”

Ignis chuckles lowly and shakes his head, “Just get on with it.”

“Alright alright.”

###  _IV._

* * *

 

Ignis shifts uncomfortably in his seat. This is the one thing he can never get accustomed to; of course he’s the best driver of the lot, but he hates how cramped it is. He can never find a comfortable position without wacking the others with his wings if he were to let them out. They’re not very far from Old Lestallum so it’s at least a bit bearable, it’s the longer drives that always bother him. They tend to make him rather _stir crazy_ and _fidgety_. (Both equally annoying to deal with.)

And when at last they stumble their way into the motel, exhausted and sweaty and taking much needed showers, Ignis sheds the magic keeping his wings out of the natural world. He sighs in relief as the magic shimmers, wax dripping off his wings as they reveal themselves.

He stretches his shoulders, his wings flaring out as he does so, then rubs the back of his neck. He climbs into bed and faces his back towards the edge of the bed so his wings can hang off of it and allow him to sleep on his side without any discomfort. Something that no amount of repositioning can replicate when camping. Not that he would sound his complaints to everyone, except in perhaps the small moments when Noctis asks him earnestly how he’s feeling and he can’t seem to push him away.

He’s fast asleep before everyone else gets in bed.

 

At night he dreams. He dreams of an unrelenting inferno, blazing from him as he fights a foe he can’t seem to focus his eyes on. He feels a slash across his chest and then the tear and ripping at his back and he’s falling. Falling. Falling.

Ignis jolts awake, gasping, eyes shooting open and struggling to focus. He feels dazed for a moment before he’s able to reorient himself.

 _I’m in a hotel_ , he reminds himself. He squints, his impaired vision frustrating him as he shifts into a sitting position and shuffles around for his glasses.

He gives up his search and lays back down. He’s been having that dream for a very long time, always the same thing, the only difference each time is how it seems to slowly clear over time. Before, there were just blurs and feelings and sounds he was never able to understand. This time around he thought he saw swords come down on his chest. He subconsciously rubs where they had landed in his dream.

He hears shuffling beside him and snaps his attention to whoever he ended up sleeping with tonight.

He’s relieved when he recognizes the blurred outline of Noct’s hair, “Mm… Specs?” His voice is slurred from sleep as he slowly shifts to face him.

“Apologies, did I wake you?” His own voice is hoarse, feeling as if he’d been _yelling_ (though he knows that’s not possible, he would have been awakened by now if he really was.)

“I guess…”

“Go back to sleep, Noct.”

“You had that dream again didn’t you?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

He sighs and closes his eyes, “It gets clearer each time…”

“What’d you see this time?”

“It’s a sword that slashes my chest.”

“Hm…”

“Foreboding, don’t you think?”

“Dunno, depends on who’s holding the sword I guess.”

“I fear it might be too late when I can finally tell.”

“Eh… just a dream, right?”

It falls silent again, save for the slight movement from Noctis and their steady breathing.

“There anything I can do for you?”

 _Hold me_ , he wants to beg, he doesn’t feel himself in his skin. As if it’s not right, as if it’s not his, as if he’s crawling in someone else’s body. Instead, he just gives Noctis a look and hopes he can understand it. (They both know it would be asking too much of Ignis to say it out right.)

Noct picks up on it and shuffles closer, hands wrapping around Ignis to the best of his ability, runs his hands soothingly through his feathers from where his wings jut out.

Eventually they’re both able to fall asleep.

###  _V._

* * *

 

When Ignis wakes up he’s, surprisingly, one of the last few awake. Unsurprisingly, however, Noctis is still very much asleep. And still very much holding on to him, and so is he. If he were anyone else he might complain about “propriety” and what have you, but he thinks they’re well past that point and have been since they were but children. So he basks in the moment.

Perhaps a small part of him is selfish. Selfish for knowing that he’s one of the few people that get to experience this. That experience such depths of trust from Noct to allow this to even happen.

(He keeps it to himself, locks this moment away for the future when he inevitably has to put that advisor wall back up.)

As much as he appreciates the moment they have to get up.

“Noct,” he coaxes softly, shifting to move his arms from around Noct’s waist.

“Mm…” Noctis grunts, squeezing Ignis tighter perhaps in hopes he won’t move away.

“Come on, it’s time to get up. We slept in too late.”

“Jus’ a lil’ longer…”

“I’m afraid we can’t afford “a little longer”, Highness.”

Ignis is barely able to pry Noct’s arms off of him and sits up in bed, “Do you want breakfast or not?”

“Breakfast isn’ that impor’an.” His eyes are shut still so Ignis takes it upon himself to open the blinds. Noct turns to flip on his stomach, blocking the light from hitting his face.

 _Always so difficult to awaken, that one._ Ignis sighs to himself and shakes his head, “Fine, ten more minutes. If you’re not up by then I’ll have to sound off my phone’s alarm. I know how much you hate it.”

“Yeah yeah…” and with that, he’s out in a matter of seconds. Ignis knows that using the kings of old’s blades are draining for him, and he knows he kept him up, so he won’t try bothering too much in the end.

 

When he exits the motel he walks across the street over to Kenny’s. It’s not ideal, to him, to depend on such greasy food for breakfast, but there aren’t any facilities available for _him_ to do the cooking so he just sucks it up.

“Morning,” he greets Prompto as he slides into the booth across from him and picks up the menu to skim through.

“Heya.”

“Where’s Gladio?”

“Morning run.”

“Ah.”

Ignis looks up from his menu and notices the look on his face. He has this smile and twinkle in his eye and he already _knows_ what he’s in for.

“No.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

“You don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Perhaps not, but I recognize that look on your face.”

“Igggyyyyy.”

“Prompto.”

“I’m gonna say it.”

“Don’t.”

“Your stupid mutual pining is _killing_ me.”

Ignis sighs, dropping the menu to the table and rests his chin on the back of tented hands, “What makes you think it’s mutual?”

“I mean. Dude doesn’t kick in his sleep when you’re sleeping with each other. And the way you’re the only one able to boss him around without him getting all weird. It’s like you speak another language when you’re just _standing_ next to each other.”

Ignis doesn’t respond, casting his eyes to stare out the window. He sees Noct exit the motel only to be greeted by Gladio.

He doesn’t want to tell Prompto they’ve talked about it before, in private. Noct _knows_ about his feelings. Feels the same, actually. But they made a decision to not do anything about it, for Ignis’s sanity. (Maybe, some day, after this is all over they’ll be able to explore something akin to a relationship. But now, when war is at its’ peak and everything is falling down around them, is not the time. He needs to keep his role of _advisor_ instead of _lover_ now more than ever.)

“Hey did you hear that?”

Ignis snaps out of his thoughts and cocks his head to the side curiously.

“Some hunters over there were talking about a wanted Daemon. They said that whoever can kill it will get a boatload of gil.”

Ignis gets up and moves across, sitting on the barstool in front of the tipster, “You have any hunts?”

“Yes sir, here ya go,” he sets the papers down and Ignis sorts through them. Ah— a Yojimbo, highly dangerous by the sounds of it. However, the reward will replenish their wallets from what they spent last night on the motel and then some.

He takes it out from the rest of the papers and points at it to the tipster, “This one, what can you tell me about it?”

“Well, I’ve heard that even the most skilled hunters have fallen to that thing. I wouldn’t suggest it to most people but you’re part of that group of hunters I’ve heard so much about, aren’cha?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, even if you’re capable enough it’s pretty crafty. Intelligent from the sounds of it too. It’s not like any normal daemon hunt.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.” He goes back and stands at the edge of the booth.

Prompto looks up, “So?”

“I think we have us a daemon to hunt.”

###  _VI._

* * *

 

Normally his judgment is clear, this, however, has proven to be far more difficult than anticipated. They’re in over their head with this, which he takes full credit for. He should have listened, they should have rested up more before taking on this beast of a task.

The yojimbo’s blade slices in the air just past his ear, cutting off a few strands of his hair. This is bad. What the hell is Gladio doing? Not what they planned, that’s for certain.

He’s been on the defense for some time, his arms aching from deflecting the heavy blows. Noct’s warping in and out of the Yojimbo’s sight, slicing and cutting when he can, Prompto’s keeping his usual distance and unloading his gun on it. Gladio’s meleeing it. Which was not the plan, he was suppose to be keeping it busy by shielding the attacks. But he’s not, he’s just hammering away at it like the others are, allowing the yojimbo to slash at them.

“Gladio what the _hell_ are you doing?” Ignis spits in between each attack.

“What I do best!” He grunts, the sword cuts at his arms and-

 _(I’m out there putting my damn life on the line just so you don’t have to use your gifts.)_ The words play clearly in his head and he curses himself internally. Is he trying to prove a point, to provoke him into using his flames?

Noct lands on the ground beside him, “Dammit, its’ skin is too tough for my blades to cut through. Specs, think you can give us a little firepower?”

“I would love to, however your pigheaded shield is in the way.”

“Glad-” Before he can even finish his word the Yojimbo throws Gladio to the side as if he were a toy. Gladio collides hard with the tree and falls over, out cold.

It turns its’ full attention to Noctis, who’s still crouching on the ground, recovering from his magic depletion.

It lunges, and Ignis’s eyes widen as he watches the sword nearly reach Noct. He acts before he can think, throwing himself in front of Noct and pushing him to the side before it can reach him.

The pain is instant, the sword cutting into him with little resistance. Ignis looks down at the sword skewering him, then to the side at Noct’s wide eyes.

“Fuck.”

The Yojimbo withdraws the sword and Ignis falls to his knees first, then face down.

 

“Ignis!” Noct cries out in distress as he scrambles to his side. Prompto fires off several more bullets and the Yojimbo stumbles back, caught off guard.

It’s not enough. It swipes at Noct and he dodges back. No, no, no, he can’t pull out a potion fast enough. They can’t lose him, they need him, _he_ needs him. He summons his sword back into his hand and fends off the storm of attacks.

(Frantically trying to reach Ignis.)

With his back turned he doesn’t see Ignis stand, he doesn’t see the way his demeanor changes, he doesn’t see the way Prompto nearly drops his gun.

Then he feels a warm hand on his shoulder, and the blade the yojimbo had been wielding melts into nothing. It screeches and drops the burning handle to the ground.

Noct turns and sees Ignis standing.

His eyes are no longer a shining emerald, but a shimmering gold, hair wild and flickering with flames as ichor spills from his wound. His wings are flared out, red with fire. The inferno licks at his feet as he walks towards the daemon, his clothes turning to ash in mere seconds and the ground burning beneath him. He points at the daemon who’d impaled him and it immediately bursts into flames from the inside out.

The others watch in horror as Ignis — if it really is Ignis — turns to them, his voice a chorus, “Unfortunately, this body will start dying very soon if we do not get medical attention immediately.”

###  _VII._

* * *

 

Ignis feels weightless, the pain he was in moments ago now but a memory. It’s dark, save for the single flame in the distance. This is not like any wild flame he’s communicated with, nothing tips him off about how it feels. Is it getting closer?

As the flame grows closer the more definitive outline of a humanoid shows itself. He sees it, horns of fire and wings — _his_ wings — a stark contrast to the flames.

“What are you? Where am I?”

“You’ve fallen unconscious and are bleeding, I've intervened temporarily.”

Brows furrow, he already has somewhat an idea of what’s happening but…

“Yes, I am the fire that has resided in you your whole life. I will tell you a tale, of what was, and what is.”

“I mean no offense by this, but is now the time if I’m bleeding out?”

“Your mortal time is an illusion in this mindspace. As I have stated, I have stepped in, you will not die. You’re too important.”

Ignis falls silent.

“Are you ready to learn your place?”

He’s not really sure, he’s wondered his whole life who and what he is, but now that he’s seconds from learning the truth he’s not too sure if he wants it. “Yes.”

“Very well.”

Ignis blinks and there he sees it, an empty land save for a few villages and people clamoring about. A form of fire rises, then, shielding the villages with its arms.

“There was once a God of Innovation, he has many names, some I am certain you’re familiar with. He knew of a great calamity that would come, just as the other Astrals, but unlike them he pitied and loved the mortals that walked the lands. He thought it unjust that they would face such a calamity alone, thus he set upon them a gift of knowledge necessary for creating architectures reaching the heavens in hopes it might protect them.”

Buildings of vast size grows and expands, civilizations thrives and continues to do so, the buildings reach the heavens. “He was considered their savior for a spell and they used his gift as he instructed, listened to the king he ordained. They would call him the Infernian, the Pyreburner, the Innovator, the God of the Sun, Ifrit. As time progressed the humans he so cherished and they cherished he, would grow to forget their beginnings. They would soon grow greedy and vast in their empire, disregarding why they were given such a gift. Many would claim they themselves were gods.”

Fire, so much fire, the burning of an entire civilization. “It was not until man created a weapon, one intending to strike the gods down that Ifrit lashed out in rage and sorrow. In the aftermath of the Astral War, Ifrit’s rage cleared from his eyes and he realized what he had done. So stricken by grief was he that his soul separated from his body the moment the Draconian tore his wings of fire from his back.”

Ignis’s throat feels dry, he’s already getting an understanding of how this might end.

“For centuries, his soul slumbered in the great beyond as did his body. Something happened, however, thirty of your mortal years ago that roused the soul. It would search for years to come before finding a mortal vessel that was compatible, one whose soul was similar to what Ifrit had once been.”

“...Me.”

“You are correct, Ignis Scientia.”

Ignis buckles, falling to his knees, shoulders slumping, “Am I Ifrit, then?”

“No, you are simply Ignis Scientia, an anomaly in a world preordained, just as I.”

“Then you, who are you?”

“The Power you know not yet how to tame. I am you and you are me. I have waited decades for you to reach within and find the truth you so desperately sought in youth, Ignis Scientia. At last we can seal the bond and become one as we should have been long ago. We will be one until your mortal coil is no more.”

“We won’t be able to talk like this?”

“No, but you will understand better than any story can tell.”

Ignis contemplates this for a moment before gazing up at the flame, “Will I stay me or will I change into what you once were?”

“You will remain, it is I who will change.”

“And Noct… will this protect him…”

“That is for you to decide, Pyreburner.”

“Then I agree.”

“Very well,” the flames move forward, surrounding him and engulfing him, wraps him in a blanket of fire, and then oh so softly, “thank you, Ignis Scientia. Live long, love strong, do what I could not.”

Before the fire completely fades into him he hears one last instruction, one last warning, “Pyreburner, the Draconian is not to be trusted.”

 

Ignis gasps, eyes snapping open as he shoots up in bed. He winces, inhaling sharply as he feels the sting of his healing injury. _Where am I?_

He blinks, looking around the familiar room before his mind catches up and he’s able to discern that he’s at Cape Caem. He slowly lays back down, cringing as the bandages move uncomfortably against his abdomen. What is he even wearing? He’s vaguely grateful he wasn’t in his crownsguard uniform when it happened, surely it would have been ruined, and there would be no getting that back. (Not that he’s grown attached to the coeurl patterned shirt or anything.)

He looks over to his side and squints, barely making out Noctis asleep in the chair beside him. How hadn’t he noticed sooner?

He opens his mouth to try and rouse him awake but instead he coughs, his throat bone dry and hoarse.

That seems to startle Noct awake as he suddenly flinches and jolts awake, panic on his face for a brief moment before turning into utter relief. “Ignis! You’re awake,” and in seconds he has an armful of Noct. He wheezes slightly at the sudden force against his chest.

“Oh, shit, sorry. I just… You were out for so long I wasn’t sure if you’d ever wake up again.”

Ignis looks at him concerned, just _how long_ was he out? He makes a wheezing noise and then coughs dryly again when he tries to ask, which earns him a look of surprise from Noct.

“Do you need water?”

He nods.

“Alright, I’ll go get some, it may be a little while though since I gotta tell the others you’re awake finally.”

 

Ignis sits up when Noct finally comes back, and it seems he’s not alone. Prompto’s walking beside him and Gladio stays leaning against the doorframe, staring warily. (Guilt, perhaps, Ignis thinks.)

When handed the water he immediately downs it and gives it back. He still feels parched but at least his throat isn’t as tender. (Might take a while to completely rehydrate, he assumes.)

“How long was I out?” His voice is gravelly and low, cracking at the end.

“Two weeks… sorta… You’d wake up from time to time but what you said didn’t really make sense.” Noct answers.

“Yeah, you always had this like… wild look in your eyes and you talked _a lot_ about not having enough time? Or a calamity of some kind? About the gods not being on our side? Monica said it was probably fever induced.” Prompto says.

Ignis hums in response, it wasn’t fever induced, he knows this now.

“Oh, and this… thing happened after you got stabbed… you like? Burned the daemon with this crazy powerful fire spell, and also your clothes got burned off, and it’s probably not the right time to say it but it was sorta really hot.” Noct shoots Prompto a look.

Ah, so that’s what the Flame meant when it said it interv- now hold on, his clothes got burned off? Oh, that’s completely mortifying. He feels heat rise to his cheeks from the embarrassing thought and pointedly looks away.

“You’ve been holding back on us, Specs.” Noctis says with a lopsided smile.

Ignis looks down at his hands.

“I need to speak to Noctis.”

“Alright.”

“Privately.” He says, glancing at Prompto. Prompto gets the hint and walks out, taking Gladio with him before shutting the door. (What he won’t know in this very moment is that they would still listen in, nonetheless, and later Prompto would crack from the guilt and admit to Ignis under a starless sky that he knows what they talked about that day.)

Ignis watches for a moment then turns his attention back to Noct, “I… finally deciphered the dream.”

Noctis looks confused for a moment, before it clicks on what he’s talking about. “Well…?”

He hesitates, how does he even go about doing this? _By the way turns out I’m the reincarnation of Ifrit the Infernian, an Astral_ won’t cut it. He exhales slowly. “It’s Bahamut, the one who strikes me down.”

Noct is quiet.

“It’s… it wasn’t a dream, Noct,” he folds his hands into each other, not sure where to put them, “it’s a memory.”

“What… what do you mean?”

“Not, _my_ memory, per say. Well- I suppose it is now.”

“Ignis, what are you saying?”

“My wings, they were once the Infernian’s.”  
It’s deafeningly silent in seconds of the words leaving his mouth. He doesn’t dare look at Noct’s face, in fear of what he might see in those eyes.

“I suppose it makes sense now. I think I chose not to see it for what it was because I was scared. I should have figured it out when I could understand what Titan was saying…” He laughs pitifully.

“So… what you’re saying is that you’re… Ifrit.”

“Not exactly it’s…” he sighs, he wanted to know so badly what he is when he was younger but now that he knows… “I’m me, I have always been me... Ignis Scientia. That doesn’t change… The Infernian’s soul split from his body after the Astral War. He found residence in me… apparently we have similar souls, and thus the bond.”

Noct doesn’t say anything.

“When… when I was out, he explained to me how we became joined, and I’m… I’m not quite sure what all of the effects will be but we’re bound now, permanently. We’re one. I suppose I’ve… accepted myself, in a way. Regardless of this bond, I won’t change in the way that matters. I’m still me.”

Noctis says nothing.

Ignis grits his teeth, “Say _something_. If you want me to leave with this information, I will.”

“No!” Noct blurts, a little too loudly before he recoils in on himself a little, “No... I just… it’s a lot to take in. You said you’re still Ignis, right? I don’t really see why you’d have to leave. Just… give me time, maybe? To process this all?”

Ignis lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “Of course.”

Noctis reaches out and grabs hold of his hand gently, “You’ll always be my Ignis, okay?”

He smiles fondly in response, squeezing his hand slightly, “Always.”

###  _VIII._

* * *

 

Ignis can tell how uncomfortable Gladio is in this situation, but they have to have a long needed talk.

“Gladio,” he starts, but before he can finish his thoughts Gladio cuts him off.

“No, let me start. Damn… I’m bad at this… Look… I know you love him and what I said was out of line. Sometimes my mouth moves before I can think.”

“I know,” he says tentatively, “but that doesn’t excuse what you said, or what I said for that matter.”

“Sorry.”

“It may… take a while for me to forgive you.”

“I get it. I got you hurt cause I wouldn’t let my pride go, I know that now.”

“Yes, well, we all have our moments.”

“I guess I was trying to provoke you into using your magic.”

“I picked up on that.”

“It… kinda worked.”

Ignis shoots him a glare.

“Too soon?”

“Far too soon. Maybe when we’re old men we can-” he cuts himself off, the flash of a vision playing out before him. (A war, a great calamity.) He suddenly feels dizzy.

“Hey, you okay there, Iggy?”

He rubs his head and tries to steady his breathing, “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look too hot, want me to go grab Noct?”

“No, it’s fine, I must just be… exhausted still.”

He knows Gladio’s not buying it, but is grateful when he doesn’t say anything. “Alright… are we done here? Friends again?”

“I’d say so. Now go before I have to physically remove you from the room myself.”

“In that state?”

“I’m rather confident in my abilities to overpower you.”

Gladio chuckles and shakes his head, standing up, “Sure, whatever you say sleeping beauty. I’ll go tell prince charming you want some time alone before he comes rushing in.”

“Thank you.”

“You had him real worried there, Ignis, don’t do something so stupid as that again.”

“You know I can’t promise that, Gladio.”

Gladio shuts the door on the way out.

When he hears the sound of his heavy footfalls descend the stairs he stumbles out of bed, wincing as he moves to the vanity. He looks at himself in the mirror and sighs, seems he’s sporting a stubble, that’s not too much of an issue. What catches him, however, is his eyes. Once emerald green with hardly a trace of any other color now have golden flakes through them. A testament to his bond with Ifrit’s Flame, he’s certain.

He leans forward onto his hands against the vanity.

He wonders, briefly, what this might mean for him. For them. Will anything change? Will he be able to bend fate with this power?

(The vision of Noctis pinned against the throne by his father’s blade plays in his head again.)

Fate wants Noctis to die.

 

Ignis refuses.

**Author's Note:**

> heehee. it was an infernian ignis fic all along. i gotcha good didn't i
> 
> anyways. all jokes aside this is a wopping 16 pages in my docs. it started off as a drabble for my rp blog but then it just... kept growing in size. i might add more to this particular au (not in this same specific... post? probably a new work) about how exactly altissia goes down cause i imagine with the help of a (demi?)god it would pan out much differently. probably wouldn't have to use the ring but i do imagine it follows more closely to verse 2
> 
> also fuck the soup stirring date w ignis. i always fail it cause i play pc and i don't think that was designed with WASD in mind
> 
> Also, i didn't put it in the tags this time (bc ppl seem to avoid my fics with trans ignis :rolling_eyes:) but this has a LOT of heavy trans subtext for ignis, it wasn't intentional at first but then i reread it and was like "oh... his wings are trans analogies huh"


End file.
